


Proper Motion

by burningbright



Series: The Cause and End of Movement [1]
Category: Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms, Crusade
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Missing Scene, OC-free, Pre-Relationship, friends to better friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-27 04:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burningbright/pseuds/burningbright
Summary: Proper motion: "the astronomical measure of the observed changes in the apparent places of stars or other celestial objects in the sky."A collection of episode tags and missing scenes, primarily focused on the relations of the Excalibur's resident outsiders.





	1. A Call To Arms

**Author's Note:**

> This work will eventually collect all of the little episode tags and missing scenes I've collected over the years, which includes the various Interludes from The Drift of Stars, so readers of that work will find some chapters familiar. 
> 
> Although these bits and pieces do technically all belong in the same universe as DoS, it's not necessary to read DoS to enjoy these, and folks who are allergic to original characters may safely partake.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A set of missing scenes, connecting the dots between the release of the plague, Galen's arrival at B5, and Dureena's capture on Mars.

It had started with a dream—a man, a warning, a chance. Now Dureena dreamed again.

"You know what they have done." It was not a question. Although his face had been in shadow before, there was no mistaking the voice. It was the same man. His face was haggard, and his voice held an edge of exhaustion she didn't remember hearing before. "There will be a mission, a search for a cure. Someone of your talents could be uniquely useful, if you chose to participate." There was a question in those guarded words, and Dureena didn't hesitate even a moment before answering it.

"Yes. Just tell me how."

* * *

They met without words. None were needed. Purpose and plan had been forged in the flash of understanding and a far-reaching dream.

They moved through the station, silent and purposeful as death. Weapons were chosen and discarded, stores and disguises refreshed, no choice requiring more than a meeting of eyes for agreement or dismissal. They left in that same silence- never a word spoken or needed, acting in perfect unison. Only when they were free in space did she speak.

"Where will we go?"

"Mars," he replied, and silence reigned again.

No words were needed.

Getting picked up by the police wasn't in the plan, of course.

* * *

Deep in the seamy underbelly of Marsdome, Dureena dreamed.

"I need to leave for a while, but I'm sure we'll meet again soon. There are a few things you should know, in case my absence is more prolonged than I anticipate. A man named Matthew Gideon will be arriving soon. He has been chosen to head the search for a cure, and he will need you on his team. If I have not returned by the time he arrives, find him and give him your qualifications-"

The connection snapped suddenly, leaving Galen with an aching head which throbbed in time with his implants as they processed the backlash. He sighed and settled back, gently massaging his temples. Pointless to try and re-establish the electron incantation until he had recovered. He already regretted his hasty departure and the urgency which has not allowed him time to find and collect his companion. Her company had not been the irritant he had expected it to be, used as he was to solitude. Now, without her, the reaches of his ship seemed just a little darker, a little emptier and more lonely. He found he missed the quiet scrape of metal on whetstone, the spare, evocative movements which could communicate just as effectively as speech. They had carried out whole conversations that way- as much gesture as word. In this lone woman, sole survivor of her race, he had found a kindred spirit.

He decided not to worry about the incantation. His errand wouldn't take long, and Dureena was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

* * *

Dureena woke to a sharp kick in the ribs. Normally she would have been on her feet, knife in hand, before she was truly awake, but she was swamped by dizziness as she strove to break free of the dream. It only took her a split second longer, but in that second they were on her. The two toughs were big, but she was fast and she fought hard, determined to escape into the milling throng only a few yards from her curtained alcove. They were all studiously ignoring the fight. In a place like this, you either learned the rules of survival or you died, and the first rule was "Mind your own business". She broke free of her attackers at last and darted out into the crowd, ducking and weaving as she attempted to gain as much distance as possible. The men behind her weren't as careful, and the fight began to spread through the crowd until it was a great seething melee with Dureena trapped in the middle. She saw the man wielding a broken-off chair leg as a club draw back and aim at her head, but there was no room and no time to dodge.

The last thing she saw before she crumpled to the floor was a flood of Marsdome police in full riot gear bearing down on the mob. Then darkness engulfed her and she knew nothing more.


	2. War Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does this really even count as a tag? I don't think so, but one day I just had a little tiny sideways vision into another world--and here it is.

In another time, in another place, where things happened very differently:  
She greets him the first time he comes aboard with a flying hug, beaming and laughing, a glad enough sight to break anyone’s heart with smiling. And in that world, he catches her tight and spins her around with the momentum of impact before he sets her down with a smile as warm and open as the sun, a special regard just for her.

But this is not that world, and he is with them long before he ever boards the Excalibur. She keeps her one spark of joy to smother in a death-filled fog, and when their eyes meet they are impenetrable and guarded, full of hidden secrets.


	3. The Memory of War

The earth is damp and slightly compact beneath Dureena's probing fingers. It's good soil for tunneling in, much better than the dry topsoil which has slipped down in a choking mess of dust at the other end of this newly-opened gash in the earth. The crack leading downwards holds its shape well when she tests it, and she drops herself into the narrow space with the ease of long practice. There's a faint suggestion of cool, moist air flowing past her from somewhere further within. The teams Gideon sent down either didn't spot this opening, or decided it was too small to be worth exploring; Dureena isn't particularly bothered about which. She is merely satisfied that it is so. She has a debt to discharge--an apology to deliver. It’s right that she should be the one to do this.

She makes her way through the dark earth, following the twisting path of the crevice as much as she can. Often it's too narrow to accommodate her. Sometimes the crevice can be widened enough to squirm through with a little careful excavation, but more than once she is forced to strike out around boulders or unstable patches, digging her own way until she can find the passage again. Such time in the darkness has always been meditative for her, and she slips into a reverie as she scrapes away incremental layers of dirt, one part of her alert to the work at hand while the rest is absorbed in memory.

She remembers, distantly, the feeling of the knife leaving her hand. Her body was not her own, and the feeling of the movement she couldn't control was a far-away thing, like trying to grasp the stars on a clear night. She could only watch, and grapple with the rage that had risen like a wall to trap her.

She remembers the fear that the knife would strike home in Galen's heart with terrible immediacy. There had been no time for relief then, with anger and pain writ plain across his face. There is time for it now, with Sarah Chambers' reassurances still ringing in her ears, and it cuts as sharp and as deep as the knife ever did, leaving her raw and vulnerable.

She remembers, suddenly and all unbidden, the indecision and grief in Galen's eyes when he realised that he might be forced to kill her to destroy the machine. It is a blow that steals her breath, stills her hands, makes her heart a stone in her throat. In the dark under the earth, she covers her face in the her hands and breathes in the stillness, waiting for the trembling of delayed reaction to pass. It takes a long time, leaning into the cool, patient strength of the earth around her.

At last the shaking stops and she can work again, all attention now carefully directed to the task at hand. She is deep below the surface now, and the air passing her bears the tang of metal and ozone. The crevice widens into something almost approaching a tunnel before ending in a cavern full of tumbled rocks and the twisted remains of the great control mechanism.

The staff is buried as well, of course. When she digs it out its glow is dead, and the outer surface has flaked and torn away in places, exposing the minute circuitry beneath. It doesn't matter. She works with painful care to free it from the dirt and twisted metal that surround it without damaging it further. At last, it sits in her hands, strangely light for something that struck such a blow.

The trip back is slower with such important cargo. Passages that permitted the passage of one woman with a contortionist's flexibility are too tightly twisted to permit the staff through undamaged. More excavation. More time to think--to remember, with painful clarity--and then to carefully rebuild the armor that will shield her heart until she can find her balance again.


End file.
